


Half-Empty Threats

by motherconfessor



Category: The Flight Attendant (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Knifeplay, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Vaginal Fingering, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherconfessor/pseuds/motherconfessor
Summary: Cecilia hated that she was right. It would be a back and forth, half-empty threats of violence and then inevitable, somehow, she’d end up pressed against some surface being fucked or fucking Miranda––depending on whoever won that argument.
Relationships: Cecilia/Miranda Croft
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Half-Empty Threats

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in three hours, edited in two because I had a single image of Miranda sitting like a bond villain in a house with a cat on her lap and I couldn't let it leave me after the finale.

Viktor was dead. The notice came in a day ago, and with it, the power vacuum he left was void for only an hour before someone filled it, taking over the business. Feliks was dead too, but if Cecilia was honest, that was a fucking sanctioned event. Back when she and Miranda had been fucking on the regular, she’d told her to stay as far away from him as possible. And you know what, it was probably the only piece of advice she’d taken from her.

Well, he was dead now—a complication from surgery. Well, from Miranda more likely.

Pulling her keys from her bag, she stuck them in the door and turned the lock. The automatic lights of the entry flicked on as she locked the door behind her, turning her security alarm off.

It was a good apartment, a _safe_ apartment. She wasn’t some hired gun who could fightback in hand-to-hand combat (though Miranda had taught her enough to fight off a would-be amateur assailant, and she already knew how to fire a gun), so her security system needed to stop any potential murderers from turning up to her apartment and torturing her for information about Lionfish.

But…something was off.

The apartment was quiet, and it took her a moment to place _what_ was odd. _Cuntface_ , she realised, her heart sinking. Usually, the shitcunt of a cat would come running to the door to whine for food, wrapping around her legs in an attempt to trip her over. But he hadn’t.

She reached into her bag, pulling out her gun and stepped into the kitchen. It was quiet, clean. Not how she left it––someone had washed up her bowl and mug from breakfast and set it in the dish rack. She moved to the lounge area next, her eyes sweeping over the room. No cat, no murderer, no one. But it’d been tidied.

She hated that fucking cat and everything he fucking stood for, but god help her, if anyone had touched so much as a whisker, she’d gun them down.

She moved to the bathroom next, sweeping the apartment room by room until nothing but the bedroom was left.

The door was shut. She couldn’t remember closing it, but if she was honest, she couldn’t remember if she left it open and having a cat (that she didn’t want!) meant that sometimes things moved around. It was possible he’d locked himself in the bedroom all day and had likely thrown-up on her pillow as such punishment for that. Or pissing on the bed. Or––

She heard him purring through the door.

 _For fuck’s sake_. There was only one person in her life who would tidy up her house while she waited for her.

She pushed the door open, and there, seeing on the storage ottoman at the end of her bed was Miranda fucking Croft with Cuntface sitting in her lap.

“What the fuck,” Cecilia said, before dropping her handbag on the ground, her hand still aiming a gun at ex-fucking partner or whatever.

“Cecilia,” she said, tilting her head with that fake fucking smile she often pulled, batting her eyelashes at her. “How was your day?”

“Don’t ‘ _how as your day’_ me you cunt. What are you doing here, and get Cuntface off you. He’s not your cat anymore.”

Miranda scowled at the name. “Hunter,” she corrected.

“You left him with me for two years. He’s Cuntface.”

“Stop waiving the gun around,” Miranda snapped, though she continued to pet the fucking cat. At least she’d get his fur all over her clothes. “I just came to talk.”

“Fuck off.”

“I did,” she said. “Look, I’m unarmed.” She gestured to herself. Her coat was off, at the end of the bed behind her (but out of easy reach) and the blouse she wore was sheer enough to see there was nothing hidden on her. Cecilia stepped from one foot to the other, looking at her pants, and noticed the lack of pockets.

“Talk about what?” she asked.

“I wanted to say thank you for that tip-off you gave me.”

Cecilia sighed, rolling her eyes. Before this shit-show of a job, Miranda would often break into her house in the middle of the night (though she had no idea how she got past the security every single time) under the guise that she was ‘just visiting’ to pet the cat.

Right. Well, she certainly petted something.

“I’m not fucking you.”

“Are we going to play that game?” Miranda asked, and Cecilia _hated_ that she was right. It would be a back and forth, half-empty threats of violence and then inevitable, somehow, she’d end up pressed against some surface being fucked or fucking Miranda––depending on whoever won that argument.

Cuntface rose then, stretching on Miranda’s lap before he jumped off and walked over to Cecilia, rubbing his stupid head against her ankle before likely making his way over to his food bowl in the kitchen.

Cecilia glanced down at him, her lips twisting in disgust at how _traitorous_ he was just to have _hopped_ into Miranda’s lap.

And that was all the time Miranda needed.

She leapt at her, and before Cecilia could so much as _think_ about squeezing the trigger. Miranda had pinned her wrist to the bedroom wall, pressing her body against her. “Jesus fuck––“ Cecilia cut off with a cry as Miranda’s hand _squeezed_ with her insane strength, forcing her to let go of the gun.

And just as quickly, Miranda had snatched the gun off her,stepping back to aim it at her chest.

“Fuck,” Cecilia exhaled, raising her hands. “I thought you were here to talk.”

“I am,” Miranda said, though the sweetness was lost, her expression turned feral. “Everything we had, Cecilia, and you turned me over to _fucking_ Viktor.”

Cecilia blinked, flinching despite herself. “Right, well, I fixed that, didn’t I? Helped you get him? I mean, I don’t know anyone else who would _fucking back their car over him_.”

“It was his car,” Miranda said. “But yes, that was me.”

“Well, problem solved. You won in the end.”

“Mm, but I _did_ promise to kill you, and you know how I hate to leave things _unfinished_.”

Cecilia drew in a breath, tight and firm and then stared at her, watching as Miranda’s eyes held hers. She was pissed off. Rightfully pissed off, and Cecilia had kinda-sorta been with her long enough to know there were only a few things that brought that hot temper down.

“It would make a mess of the apartment,” she said. “And then you’d have to find someone else to look after your dumb fucking cat.”

“Maybe don’t insult my cat when you’re trying to beg for your life,” Miranda said, looking annoyed with her.

“Well, he’s a dumb fucking cat. I can’t help that. He gets up onto high surfaces and can’t get down because he’s too afraid to jump down. That’s a pretty dumb fucking thing to do.”

“I’m still going to kill you no matter how ‘cute’ you try to be,” she said, wrinkling her nose over ‘cute’.

“No. You won’t.”

“Do you not see the fact that I have the gun?”

“You’re not going to shoot me. No one else will look after your cat while you go off doing whatever.”

“I got the money––so I can fuck off with Hunter and look after him myself wherever I fucking choose.”

Cecilia almost laughed. As if Miranda would ever settle down into some quiet life where she only looked after her cat. She was too on-edge, burning with an energy she needed to expend. Even on stake-outs, she’d be flicking her butterfly knife just to do something with her hands––before she ended up just fucking her in the car to do something else.

“ _What_?” Miranda asked, her temper flaring again.

Cecilia shifted on her heels, stretching her hands. They were growing tired from just holding them up for no reason. “You could come back,” Cecilia said. “I mean, if…”

“And why would I do that?” she asked, almost laughing. “Viktor’s gone and who fucking cares who is in charge now, or how long that’ll last once the clients realise their money is missing. If anything, you should be packing a bag.”

Cecilia blinked, and then dropped her hands, realising what this was about. “Pack a bag, huh?”

Miranda made a look as if trying to push her macho-bullshit point that she was scary when she was angry and holding a gun. And yeah, she was, and yes, it was also hot, but it was also fucking obvious that her heart wasn’t in it, now.

“You want me to run away with you.”

“No, I––“ she paused, and then switched the safety of the gun before tossing away. “Fine, maybe. I don’t know. The clients will be pissed right off, and once they realise, they’ll come looking and whoever’s in charge will be looking for a scapegoat to hang.”

Cecilia closed her eyes, looking away. She hated to admit it, but Miranda was right. “Where would we go?”

“Does it matter?”

It didn’t. She didn’t know how long it would take for the clients to realise, but some of them were smart. A few days, maybe, depending on how long it took them to hear about Viktor’s death. And then they’d go snooping into their accounts and work out what had happened.

“I’ll go with you,” Cecilia said. “I’m sure we’ll get out of this shit-hole country and spend two days together before we end up in a murder-suicide anyway, but fuck it.”

Miranda relaxed, and a smile almost tugged at her mouth. “We could go to Australia again.”

“Fuck off. You hate the heat.”

Miranda nodded and then bit her lip, “Sweden?”

“Well. It’s been a few years. Maybe that bar won’t remember you.”

“They’ll remember,” Miranda sniped back as if _annoyed_ by the idea that they won’t still have her up on their permanently banned wall. “Sweden,” she said.

“Sweden,” she confirmed, feeling it firmer on her tongue. She could feel the cold. The long, dark days spent in bed with Miranda’s face buried against her neck. Cuntface would curl-up between them both, absorbing their heat like the fucker he was and…

And Viktor was gone. No one would follow them. They _could_ have a life together.

Miranda held her eyes as if waiting for her to say something and Cecilia could feel a hundred excuse filling her mouth. A hundred questions about logistics, about what they’d _do_ , about what their lives would actually be, about how Cuntface would _survive_ the fucking winter.

And before she could so much as ask how the fuck they were going to get there, Miranda’s mouth was on hers, hushing the questions between them.

She felt Miranda’s hand curl around the back of her neck before she tugged her closer. A few more moments, Miranda was asking. Let them worry about the future later.

Fine.

Cecilia untucked the blouse, undoing the pants and slid her hands underneath the material of Miranda’s underwear to draw over her sex before she could fuck her first. It was a competition, always a competition, and she’d won and––

“ _God you’re wet_ ,” she said between a kiss, drawing her mouth over Miranda’s again to feel her gasp against her. “How long were you think about fucking me?”

“Not everything revolves around you, Cecilia.”

Cecilia stroked, hard and firm before she grabbed at the vulva and held her still. “ _This_ belongs to me. You’re wet _because of me._ ” And as Miranda moaned, her hands holding her hips steady, she knew she was right.

She stroked, back and forth over her and then began walking Miranda to the bed until she pulled her hands out from her underwear and shoved the woman backwards, onto the mattress.

Miranda allowed herself to fall, her smile wide as she grabbed at her and tugged her down on top of her. Before Cecilia could position herself correctly to resume fucking her, Miranda had rolled them, ending up on top as she pinned her wrists to the blankets with one hand, in her freakishly strong grip.

“ _Seriously_?” Cecilia said, wriggling her hips as she watched Miranda’s smile sharpen as she reached behind her and pulled out her butterfly knife.

Of-fucking-course she kept it on her. Wherever Miranda was that knife was sure to follow.

“Don’t,” she said. But Miranda just stared at her with that shit-eating grin, before it hardened in determination as Cecilia began to shift. “ _Miranda_ I’m serious, this is _cashmere_.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she said, and that was it. The knife pressed through the material, between her breasts and then _ripped_. The very tip pressing against her, enough to remind her of how _dangerous_ it could be if she so chose, but it was also a reminder of how careful she was. And then the knife sliced down.

The material split, revealing bare skin to the cool air. Still holding her wrists to the bed, Miranda began kissing her.

She felt her pants undone with a single hand and then tugged down her hips. Miranda was gentle _there_ , so Cecilia lifted her hips, obedient to feeling them shoved down her legs, and the knife was pressing against her underwear, drawing over the silk-cotton blend. There was no use fighting her. If she was going to do it. She would.

The tip pressed against her skin and Cecilia drew in a long, slow breath, watching as Miranda lifted her head to look down at her. “I’m going to fuck you,” she said.

“No shit.”

“I’m still angry with you.”

 _Ah_ , Cecilia realised. That kind of fucking. “Or you could just sit on my face,” she said, grinning up at her.

Cecilia watched the conflict wash over her face, before the knife slid, tearing the underwear enough that she felt it slacken around her hips. “Oh, no, I think I’m going to fuck you first.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

The knife _swiped_ dangerously low, and then the underwear was torn to shreds. She heard the familiar, _swish-flick_ of the butterfly knife closing, and then Miranda had it disappearing god knows where.

There was a pause, and then Miranda’s mouth was upon hers again, and her fingers were sliding inside of her without warning.

She gasped against her and felt Miranda laugh against her in turn, before her mouth was kissing down her throat, to her shoulder and biting as she thrust her fingers deeper inside of her, stroking hard and firm.

It was a lot, without teasing, and Cecilia blinked up at the ceiling, sucking in a deep breath as she felt herself adjust around the fingers, and then Miranda’s teeth were sharp, summoning her attention. Between that and the fucking, Cecilia could feel her eyes chest tugging with desire.

It was hungry, zealous and possessive. Cecilia had been on her punishing side before (and happily would again, despite what she said) but this felt different.

She couldn’t focus on _what_ it was, but there was a…neediness to it. And Miranda _wasn’t_ needy. Almost as if she was…

“Oh god,” she hissed, feeling herself clench around Miranda’s fingers. It’d been too long since she’d last slept with anyone, and longer since she’d fucked Miranda. Almost six months. Almost. She bit back a moan and pressed her heels into the mattress, rocking her hips over the fingers and felt as Miranda’s mouth moved down her body until she was nudging cup of bra up and sucking over the exposed nipple, her teeth ever-threatening of what she could do if Cecilia didn’t play.

Squeezing her hands into fists, she gasped again, a whine catching in her throat as she bit back from saying her name. And then, it was too much, and she could feel the orgasm building low inside of her. “Miranda, _please_.”

“Please?” she echoed, her mouth lifting. “When was the last time you said ‘please’ to _me_?”

“I don’t fucking know! I don’t keep tabs of that–– _Oh god_ , yes. There.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her body squeezing, lengthening at Miranda’s touch and then the feeling was pulling away as the fingers slowed.

“Like this?” Miranda asked. Cecilia glared as she felt the pace slow further.

“God, _what do you want_? I already said yes. You’re already fucking me. Let me have one fucking orgasm before you––“

Miranda began pulling out of her and Cecilia nearly _shrieked_ at the audacity of it. “ _Don’t you fucking dare!_ Finish what you started or so help me, Miranda, I’ll––!”

She was cut off as Miranda pulled out entirely. Groaning, Cecilia dropped her body back against the mattress as Miranda started to move off her (though her hand remained locked around her wrists). Before Cecilia could work out what she was doing, she was being flipped onto her stomach.

“ _What the fuck_.”

“Uh, I told you. I’m going to fuck you. Now be a good girl and get into position.”

The hand on her wrists let go, but if Cecilia thought that meant she was free, she was wrong. Miranda pressed at her shoulder, holding her firmly in place and then she was nudging her hips up, manipulating her onto her knees.

_Fuck it._

Cecilia obeyed, head down on the mattress, ass up in the air. She was rewarded with a laugh and then a hand slapping her ass (hard enough to leave a red print) before she felt Miranda press behind her.

She almost wished Miranda would leave her for the two minutes it would take to find the strap and harness and put it on, but if Miranda excelled in anything, it was with her hands.

Her fingers slid inside of her cunt, and before Cecilia could match that pace, it was being increased again.

The hand on her shoulder was _brutal_ in holding her in place, nails pressing into her skin sharp enough that it bit. But it was so good, all designed to fuck her as promised, and she found her eyes fluttering, her mouth parting against the mattress to freely cry out as Miranda fucked her hard.

And it was _hard_.

It didn’t take long until she was just as close as she’d been before. And then all it took was Miranda twisting her hand, so she could use one deft finger to slide against her clit, somehow magically doing whatever those fucking magical fingers did, and bringing her to climax.

“ _God fucking damn_ ,” Cecilia exhaled, hands squeezing in the sheets as her body convulsed almost painfully around Miranda’s fingers, and honestly, fuck, she loved the feeling of coming around her like that. She loved her. 

There was a pause. And then Miranda seemed to stop. “ _What_?”

The orgasm faded, and she felt as the fingers slid out of her. Loosely, in the haze of orgasm, she felt her mind shift over her thoughts, realising what she’d accidentally said, but, fuck it. Who cared. They were running away together. She had her cat. They’d been broken-up (if they were even together in the first place) for over two years, and still, Miranda made an occurrence in her life just to fuck her.

“I love you,” she said, panting out a breath. The hand on her shoulder left, and it was enough for Cecilia to roll over. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to say it back or whatever. It just seemed right since…” she shrugged and blinked, trying to avoid looking at Miranda, while also trying to look at her from the corner of her eye to see if she was disgusted or annoyed or…. _whatever_.

But there was only silence.

And then Miranda sighed. “Yeah, I guess I love you too. You fucker.”

Cecilia smiled, and then squirmed, feeling herself scowl at how _fluttery_ the words made her. “Gross,” she said.

“ _Gross_?” Miranda said. “I say it back, and you respond with ‘gross’?”

Cecilia shrugged, looking at her. “Gross. Feelings are gross. Sit on my face; I miss how you taste.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. As direct as the woman was, she enjoyed _some_ seduction, and it never failed to annoy her when Cecilia cut straight to the point.

But Cecilia watched her undress nonetheless, pulling her clothes off and dropping them to the ground as she began to slide up the bed towards her. “Once,” she said, “and then I go back to fucking you again.”

“We’ll see,” Cecilia said, and then her hands were over Miranda’s bare hips, tugging her to her face.

It’d been almost six months since she’d last seen her, and now they were going to run away together.

The world felt quiet, exciting like it was open up to anything. And then, just as Miranda’s hand was tugging in her hair, as she swore sharper than Cecilia had heard from _anyone else_ (and she worked with an assortment of criminals), _Cuntface_ jumped up onto the bed, purring as he stared at them both as if to enquire what they were doing.

Cecilia sighed, looking up at his upside-down face as Miranda panted above her and laughed.

Yeah, she loved them both. Maybe retiring to Sweden wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe they’d get another cat.


End file.
